


In the Madness and Soil

by magicbubblepipe



Series: Take Me to Church [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, Drunk Sam, Episode: s02e11 Playthings, M/M, Masturbation, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-12
Updated: 2015-06-12
Packaged: 2018-04-04 02:39:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4122847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magicbubblepipe/pseuds/magicbubblepipe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean distances himself from Sam after the death of their father. Sam is sick of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Madness and Soil

In Cornwall, Connecticut, Sam Winchester swallows another shot of tequila. He’s staring out the window at the desolate grounds of the Pierpont Inn and wishing he could have saved that guy. He’s also wishing that he could push his brother up against the wall and stick his tongue in his mouth. With a grimace, he takes a slug straight out of the bottle.

            Ever since the car crash and the hospital, he’s needed Dean in the worst way. He knows Dean is grieving but it still hurts being shoved away by someone that’s supposed to love you. He’s done everything he can to bring him around, to make him talk. He’s pushed, hoping Dean would push back. He pushes, alright. Pushes and pushes, but never pulls. And now the news, the freaking bombshell that Dean just dropped on his head after the Croatoan business.

            Knowing that he could turn at any given moment? Knowing that it’s in his destiny to be some kind of fucked up monster? It’s one of the hardest blows yet and Sam’s not sure how many more he can take. He abandons the near empty tequila for Jäger. If he had saved Ava, if he saved the man who hanged himself, he would be better. That would have to make him a better person, wouldn’t it? If he’s good enough, maybe he can change it.

            He has to make sure Dean knows it’s okay to kill him in the end. If it comes down to him or Dean, it’s got to be Dean that comes out alive. Dean is a good man. He’s the best man that Sam’s ever known and that’s why it’s got to be him to pull the trigger. _Don’t let me hurt innocent people. Don’t let me hurt you._

            He doesn’t really taste the liquor anymore. It doesn’t burn going down. He keeps thinking he can hear them in his head, asking him why he didn’t save them. He slumps down into a chair, the contents of his bottle sloshing messily. An empty rolls away from his foot toward the bed. _Maybe deep down I know I could have saved them. Maybe I’m already a monster._

            He hits the table with his broken hand and hisses in pain, tears springing to his eyes. That’s okay; he’ll take any excuse to cry.

…

            Dean’s nervous when he finds the door to their room ajar and even more nervous when he sees Sam is drunk. Very drunk from the look of it. He’s got a sheen of sweat at the hollow of his throat, breaking out over his upper lip. He’s slurring words, laughing one minute and close to tears the next. This isn’t the fun drunk side of his brother. This is the seriously messed up and about to do something reckless Sam.

            And what he’s saying to him. Jesus. The kid really thinks he’s capable of being a monster? He really thinks Dean would ever be strong enough to stop him? Dean’s trying to ignore him, write it off to drunken stupidity while Sam clings to his arms, pulls him by his shirt and begs him, begs to be promised. Dean cannot make that promise. But he can lie. He’s become exceptionally good at that.

            Sam looking up at him with wide, wet eyes. Frightened and desperate, clutching at Dean’s jacket like a life preserver, pleading with him. Dean’s gut is clenching nervously, heart speeding up and sticking his tongue to the roof of his mouth. He has to say it, has to lie just to get Sammy to go to sleep. Please, just go to sleep and forget it.

            “I promise.”

            Sam’s eyes flicker, grief, gratitude, love. So much fucking love. He puts his hands on Dean’s face, pulls him in close. A shiver races up Dean’s spine and he grabs Sam’s wrists, pushing him away. _Not now, not now, he’s drunk, don’t touch him back._

            Sam turns over willingly, hugging his pillow against his face and settling in. The low curve of his back is exposed where his shirts have ridden up, round ass in the air, hidden under hip riding jeans. Dean rubs a hand over his face, want and fear battling for dominance. He watches Sam’s breaths get slow before he rises out of the lousy, dipping mattress and makes for the door and the bar downstairs.

…       

Dean’s brushed his teeth and shrugged out of his outermost layers, left in his t-shirt and boxer briefs. He goes quietly to his bed and immediately wakes Sam with the ungodly shriek of the ancient springs. Sam turns his face towards Dean, hair stuck up in odd directions, flushed with sleep. He looks edible. Dean’s stomach swoops.

            “What d’ya looking at?” he asks, failing at gruff and landing somewhere around needy.

            Sam reaches out a hand toward Dean, fingers outstretched. “C’mere.”

            “Why?” Dean asks, even as he stands and walks over to his brother.

            “Y’r bed sucks, De. Lay with me,” he mumbles, shimmying over to give Dean some room.

            Knowing in his gut that this is a terrible idea, Dean sighs and climbs onto the bed next to Sam. Sam immediately presses up against him, drawn in like a magnet. His intense heat burning right through Dean’s thin shirt, breath huffing out against his throat. Sam throws an arm around Dean, crushes him close like some kind of life size teddy bear.

            “Smell good, De,” Sam’s voice vibrates through Dean’s chest. Makes him shiver. Sam’s tongue suddenly hot and wet against his Adam’s apple. Dean jerks, sucks in a breath. “Taste good too,” Sam says.

            “Yeah, well you smell like a liquor store,” Dean tries for levity, pushing gently at Sam’s shoulder.

            Sam just presses closer, hard dick digging into Dean’s hip. Dean’s own cock twitching to life, responding to Sam’s heat. Sam’s hand shoves itself up under Dean’s shirt, pressing a wide, hot palm against the sweating small of his back. “Mm’ horny, Dean.” Sam whispers, teeth scraping against Dean’s collar bone.

            Dean’s breath trembles. “No shit?” he laughs a little. “So drunk, it’s a wonder you got it up.”

            “Don’t tease me, Dean,” Sam says, the hand on his back sliding down, down and under the waistband of Dean’s shorts, skating over swell of his ass. “Need you,” he almost whines, “Need you to touch me.”

            “Chrissakes, Sammy,” he almost begs, “Just go to sleep, huh?”

            Sam grabs Dean’s hand, pulls it down to cup where Sam’s straining in his jeans, puts his own hand on the bulge of Dean’s erection. “Come on, Dean. C’mon, baby, I know you want it.”

            Dean shudders, leaks against the pressure of Sam’s big hand. Swallowing his guilt, feeling weak, he squeezes Sam’s cock. Sam gasps, thrusts against his palm, his own fingers wrapping tight around Dean through his boxers, stroking him just like he learned to all those years ago.

            Sam spreads his legs, humping his brother’s hand. “Want you to fuck me like when we were kids. Miss you fuckin’ me, thought about it all the time at school.”

            “God, Sam,” Dean growls, heat burning away in the pit of his belly, dick jerking eagerly in Sam’s grasp.

            “Used to jerk off with my fingers up my ass, wishin’ it was you.”

             To shut him up, Dean slides down the length of Sam’s body until he’s face level with his crotch. Sam’s rambling encouraging nonsense as Dean nudges his nose along the hard length trapped along Sam’s thigh. Before he loses his nerve, Dean yanks open Sam’s jeans, pushing them and his underwear down far enough to pull out his cock.

            Sam’s wet, flushed red to match the bitten raw plush of his mouth when Dean looks up to meet his gaze. Dean takes him in hand, stroking slow and admiring the beauty of his brother, skin like silk over steel. “God, I keep forgetting how much you’ve grown,” Dean says, gravel voice and spit filling his mouth.

            He pumps his length a few times, moving slick through the circle of his hand before he brings his mouth to the tip, kissing the glistening slit. Sam bucks, sliding over the plump curves of Dean’s mouth, grazing the line of his teeth and the wet pink of his tongue. Dean opens up with a moan, taking in the head of Sam’s cock, swirling around and under with his tongue, flicking at all of his sensitive nerves.

            Sam’s making the most delicious whimpering sounds and Dean starts to take him in deeper, sucking around the girth that feels huge in his mouth. Sam pulses more wetness into his mouth and Dean swallows, letting him touch the back of his throat before sliding back off to the tip. Sam’s panting, shifting helplessly on the bed. The hand that isn’t in a brace, twists up in Dean’s hair as he pumps shallowly into his willing mouth.

            Dean relaxes and lets Sam use him, getting off on the hot slide in and out, in and out. He reaches down into his boxers to fist his own cock that’s desperate for touch. He’s embarrassingly close for being the one _not_ getting his dick sucked. He lets his moans spill out around the thrust of Sam’s cock, knowing how Sam goes crazy for those vibrations.

            “God, Dean. M’gonna come. You gonna lemme come in your mouth, big brother?”

            Shit, this kid’s mouth is going to be the death of him. Dean groans something like an affirmation, nodding the best he can. Sam throws his head back, long neck straining and his hips launch up off the bed, burying his dick deep. Dean’s hand is blurring over his own cock as Sam starts to come, pumping endlessly, filling his mouth and frothing out down his chin. Tears in his eyes as Sam fucks his throat raw and Dean comes in his shorts, blinding pleasure numbing out the pain in his jaw.

            Sam falls back against the bed and passes out almost instantly. Dean wipes his mouth, licks Sam’s dick clean as he milks the rest of his own orgasm. He pulls up Sam’s boxers when he’s done and yanks off his pants, tossing them to the floor. He removes his own underwear, wiping himself off and throwing them somewhere in the dark. He makes sure to push Sam over onto his stomach before he lies down.

…

            Dean’s still winding down from the thrill of the hunt when they put Susan, the poor stressed innkeeper into her taxi and send her away. He hopes from the easy way he banters with Sam means he doesn’t remember what happened between them the night before.

            “Feels good getting back in the saddle doesn’t it?” he asks.

            “Yeah, it does,” Sam replies but his brow is furrowed, dark. “But it doesn’t change what we talked about last night, Dean.”

            Dean’s heart skips a beat, he swallows, tries to play it cool. “We talked about a lot of things last night.”

            “You know what I mean.”

            Is this about the sort-of-sex thing or the ‘gonna have to kill his own brother’ thing? “You were wasted,” he’s almost begging.

            Sam’s eyes are steady. “But you weren’t. And you promised.”

            Dean’s jaw clenches, doesn’t know what to say. They slide into the Impala in silence and Dean cranks the engine, pulls them back out onto the road. The roar of the engine is slowly soothing out Dean’s tension but Sam’s gaze is still heavy, pensive, penetrating when Dean accidentally meets his eyes. Something is coming. Calm before the storm.

            And then it comes.

            “I remember, you know.”

            Dean’s sweaty palms gripping the wheel. “Remember?”

            “Dean.” There’s suddenly a wide, hot palm on his thigh. Dean flinches, jerks his eyes away to look at his brother.

            “Don’t feel guilty. I wanted it,” Sam says, reading his mind like always. “I still do.”

            The hand slides up higher, into the crease of groin and thigh. Dean bites his lip, eyes flickering from Sam and back to the road. He can’t help that he’s getting hard. “Did you mean it? When you said you wanted me to fuck you?”

            Sam’s hand squeezes. “God, more than anything.”

            Dean’s exhale shakes. “Because if we do this again…I need you to be positive. We’re not dumb kids anymore. I need you to be sure this isn’t just some rebound thing after Jessica.”

            Sam leans in closer, breathing against Dean’s neck. “I always wanted you, Dean,” he bites the lobe of his ear. “I always will.”

            Dean gasps, takes Sam’s hand and places it over his cock. Sam chuckles against his skin and squeezes.

           

           


End file.
